


On the Side of the Angels

by CaptainLevi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Sherlock (TV) Fusion, Angst, But with a happy ending, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Movie AU, Mutual Pining, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Soulmates, angel!Sherlock, city of angels, follows the movie's line of events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-01 07:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11481951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLevi/pseuds/CaptainLevi
Summary: Sherlock is an angel who was always intrigued by humans. John is a doctor who never believed until he met an angel.Based on the movie "City of Angels."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, if anyone has a comment/ feedback, it would be great to hear from you. Hope you like this!  
> Thank you @Alexxphoenix42 for giving me fantastic feedback.

As he watched rain drops slipping lazily on the glass, Sherlock wondered what water tasted like. He had always wondered about taste, always marveled at people's fascinations with foods and drinks and... well, kisses. He stopped his mind immediately, he had a job to do and it was no time to let his strange fantasies take him to unfamiliar territories of his equally strange brain.

 

Sherlock secretly thought he was unlike the 'others.' They never seemed to be as fascinated as he was by humans and their lives. None of the others spent what felt like eternity observing minute details, gestures, and expressions, let alone trying to guess what people did, thought, or wanted. Sure, if he wanted to, he could steal glimpses into people's minds, hear some of their strongest thoughts and emotions, but he rather liked to draw up the conclusion himself and enjoy little victories whenever he was right, which was almost always.

 

Right, Sherlock had to focus now. He turned to the woman standing over her daughter. She was so agitated, her thoughts ripped through his own head immediately: "oh god, what do I do? Alright, stay calm, you can reduce her temperature with a cold bath before going to the A&E." Sherlock watched as she scooped her child, whispering reassuring words to her as she put her in the cold tub. The little girl, Samantha was her name, started sobbing weakly, until her eyes connected with Sherlock's.  
****

Sherlock held Samantha's hand standing behind the operation room's glass as they watched her mother screaming over her small and now lifeless body laid on the operation table. Samantha looked up at him with interest. "What's your name?"   
He gave her a small smile before answering "Sherlock."

"Where are we going?"

"Home"

"Can Mummy go too?"

"No"

"She won't understand"

"She will someday"

She turned and looked at her mother again through the glass window, and then walked away with him.  
****

 

Cycling to work every day was not the safest, and definitely not the most practical, idea in a city like London, yet John did it every day. He needed this small rush of adrenaline every morning.  He needed to feel his muscles working and the cold air hitting his face before he could dive into endless chaos of his regular work day. This morning was exceptionally satisfying. John felt the heat as his muscles worked at maximum capacity, avoiding cars and maneuvering through traffic.

 

He felt good about today, he had been working at Bart's for two years now, gaining a fairly good reputation as a cardiothoracic surgeon. He rarely lost any patients, and he liked to keep it that way. 'Focus. Follow procedure. Be prepared. Don't let them die on your table.    
He chained the bike outside Bart's and walked in. After changing quickly into his scrubs. He headed to the OR and was quickly handed a file and steered to look at an x-ray.

 

"What have we got?"

 

"50-year-old had a huge anterior wall MI this morning. Collapsed while jogging. Paramedics resuscitated him, but his EKG's pretty ugly."

"He's hypertensive."

 "This diagonal looks tight."

 

"I'll be right there" John said and went to scrub in, but the nurse stopped him "The patient wants to meet you" John froze. He was never good at this, at soothing and reassuring, it was one of the reasons he became a surgeon rather than a GP, but this was part of any doctor's job nonetheless, and he had to do it. He didn't hate it, but he never knew what to say. He loathed false assurances, but this procedure was standard enough, the patient was going to be fine, no need to fret about it. When he entered the room and saw the patient, his heart skipped a beat. The patient was not fully conscious, already a bit groggy, but his eyes were open and looking directly into John's eyes.  "You're going to be fine" John said confidently, but something in the man's eyes made his throat tight and his hands shaky. He turned and left the room.

 

Quickly and smoothly, John slipped into focus and precision as he worked on the patient. He breathed evenly as he made the first incision. This was the thing he did best, and he was simply in his element, his delicate yet competent hands worked the different scalpels, retractors, and clamps. Everything was going well. John sighed in relief behind his mask as he backed up, leaving the assistant surgeon to stitch the patient up.

 

 "Thanks everyone," John said and stepped out while taking off his apron and latex gloves.

 

John had barely taken a couple of steps outside of the operation room before the nurse called him back. The patient had flat lined! He couldn't let the shock freeze him just yet, he had to keep his mind clear. He put on a new apron and pair of gloves and started at the patient again, heart thudding and brain working frantically.

*****

 

"Beeeeeeeep" the heart monitor squeaked as the man's soul seeped out of his body slowly and gently. Sherlock waited patiently by his side, wishing he could make it easier, faster. "Kill the alarm!" the surgeon bending over the man shouted, his voice laced with a hint of hysteria, and Sherlock looked at him for the first time. Deep blue eyes framed by surgeon cap and mask moved frantically over the body laid down on the table.  The indigo eyes filled with healer's concern and focus startled Sherlock, and he couldn't resist. He strained his senses and listened to the doctor's rushed thoughts as he worked.  
  
"Come on, don't do this! Damn it, come on! Tom! Come on!"  Suddenly, the doctor lifted his face, desperation painted in his eyes… eyes that for some unfathomable reason connected with Sherlock's. Sherlock stared back… what? What was going on? He couldn’t be looking AT him! Yet the doctor's desperate eyes remained on Sherlock, as if pleading. Sherlock averted his eyes and looked at the man who was now standing on his side and staring down at his lifeless body as if it were strange to him. "Time of death 11:06 am"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like you calm, as if you were distant,  
> you are a moaning, a butterfly’s cooing.  
> You hear me far-off, my voice does not reach you.  
> Let me be calmed, then, calmed by your silence.  
> Let me commune, then, commune with your silence,  
> clear as a light, and pure as a ring.  
> You are like night, calmed, constellated.  
> Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.
> 
> Pablo Neruda

John walked toward the waiting room, trying his best to stop his hands from twitching. He ran a shaky hand through his hair.  
"Mrs. Wilson?" He said to the red-headed woman sitting on the chair. Next to her sat a younger woman who had to be the daughter. Mrs. Wilson looked cheerful and unperturbed, oh god, she wasn't worried at all!  
"Yes?"  
"My name is Dr. John Watson, I am your husband's surgeon."  
"How is he?"  
She was still smiling. She had a kind face and two delicate lines around her mouth, as if she had smiled so much it was itched there forever. John's heart was beating erratically, not deciding whether to race in horror, or thud slowly in agony. He had to get the words out, the smiling woman was still staring at him.

"I'm sorry. Tom passed away"  
That was all he could say, and he thought of how meaningless that phrase was. "Passed away" as if to make it better and less horrific, as if to indicate he had gone somewhere else rather than ceasing to exist. What was the point? Why couldn't he just say "died?"

For a moment, the woman kept smiling and looking at him as if not comprehending. Then, her face transformed horrifically.  
"What?"  
"What do you mean?" the daughter said  
Right. He had to explain, He wished so badly he had an explanation that would give them solace and closure, but what could he say? He had not understood what happened there.  
"We… were able to restore blood flow to the heart, but… he developed a lethal arrhythmia, and we couldn't resuscitate him."

"Wait. I'm sorry, I don't understand. A what?"

"I… I'm sorry." was all he could say while watching a person's world collapse right before him. The mother and daughter clung to each other sobbing, and John fled the room.  
*****  
Sherlock followed the doctor who disappeared behind a metal door and into a stairwell. John was his name.

Sherlock watched him pace, running his fingers through silver blonde hair, until he finally collapsed on the stairs with a shuddering breath. Sherlock kneeled in front of him. He wanted to see if John could look at him again… see him, so he waved a hand slowly between them, but John didn't seem to notice anything. He looked lost and tired and anguished as he gazed into nothingness. Sherlock had never seen so much emotion in one human face, it was amazing.

He felt an invisible force drawing him into the sad eyes. He wanted to stroke the soft hair and hold the trembling hands. Sherlock got closer and listened to the murmur of thought:  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What happened? A graft occlusion? What? It was textbook. It was textbook. I should've done more. I should've massaged longer. I'm so sorry!"

"There was nothing you could do" Sherlock whispered, knowing fully that the man could not hear him.  
***

It was right before dawn, and London had yet to wake from its slumber  
Sherlock sat on a ledge on top of Saint Paul's Cathedral watching the city. He turned to Mycroft quiet abruptly  
"Have you ever been seen...like you were a man?"  
Mycroft didn't look back as he answered, but kept staring at the birds flying in circles around the gothic building.

"In a restaurant once, a blind woman turned to me all of a sudden and asked me to pass her the mustard."  
"But she was blind."  
"But she knew I was there."  
"That doctor in the operating room. He looked right at me."  
"He didn't see you, Sherlock. He can't see you. No one can see you unless you want them to."  
"And if I want him to?"  
"Why do you want him to?"  
"To help him."  
At that, Mycroft did turn to him. He looked like he was searching Sherlock's face for something.  
"We are here to guide the dead, not the living. They have their own choices and paths to take, and we have no control over that." He paused, then looked away again and went on "All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't answer. He knew it was true, but the deep blue eyes were still haunting him.  
****  
John stormed out of the operation room and headed for the break room, his anger getting the best of him.  
There was a knock on the door minutes later, and Sarah entered  
"Stapleton was looking for you"  
"Why did she cancel my mitral valve?"  
"John, you're not okay. You need a break."  
"I'm fine"  
"You're not fine. You can't operate like this. It was rescheduled for Monday"  
She came a bit closer and touched his arm.  
"I've seen the patient's file, John, and it wasn't your fault"  
John averted his eyes and looked at the small hand on his arm instead  
"I know"  
"I'm not sure you do. You put up a good fight. You did everything you could"  
John lifted his head and looked at her beautiful green eyes. He needed to ask a question, to talk about a feeling that had been tormenting him  
"Do you ever feel like there is something else in there with us… in the operation room I mean. A… force that doesn't care if we put up a fight or not."

Sarah looked puzzled and just a bit concerned, and well of course she had a reason to. John smiled "You were right. I'm not okay, I'm going bonkers"

She chuckled and her face relaxed "You're just tired." She moved closer, invading his space. He could just catch the flowery smell of her hair as her hand went up, gently stroking his bicep  
"Why didn't you call me?"

"Because I never sleep when you stay over"

"You never sleep whether I stay over or not"  
He fell silent. John had had trouble sleeping since adolescence. His insomnia had helped him through med school, but definitely not in his work life.

"You're good, you know it. Come back on Monday and get back on the horse." Sarah said and kissed his lips  
A nurse peered in "We're ready for you Dr. Sawyer."  
"I'll see you." Sarah smiled warmly at him and left the room.  
********

"It's going to be fine," John muttered to himself "Just a simple pre-op visit."  
John took several deep breaths before he entered Mr. Lestrade's room. He tried to devoid his face of all expression as he said hello and opened the chart. Before he could say anything a small brunette woman jumped out of nowhere and started glaring at him.  
"Dr. Watson, is it?"  
"Yes"  
"May I know why Greg's surgery was delayed to Monday? Is something wrong? Are you not telling us something?" She said all of that extremely fast without breaking eye-contact with John.  
"Err…No, Miss…"  
"Mrs. Lestrade… Molly Lestrade"  
"Oh, sorry, Mrs. Lestrade. Circumstances were not optimal to perform the procedure on the patient"  
"Hey, I'm right here, you know" Greg Lestrade said, though he sounded more amused than angry. John looked directly at his face then. He was a silver-haired man with a joyful face. His brown eyes were relaxed and clear as if he had no concern in the world, much unlike his own wife. John noticed something brown on the side of his lip.  
"What's that on your mouth?"  
"What? Where?" Greg hastily put a hand on his mouth and his eyes darted to his wife in panic, and as she moved closer, he fidgeted in his bed and something fell from under the blanket onto the floor.  
John and Molly looked down in unison to see a small empty tub of chocolate ice-cream.  
"Oh, Greg!" Molly sighed in exasperation.

John suppressed a laugh as he bent to remove the ice-cream from the floor.  
"Mr. Lestrade, this operation is a big deal. If you continue to eat like this and smoke, then you might as well skip it."  
"Yeah well, if you had performed the operation yesterday like you were supposed to, I'd be sucking carrots through a straw in my arm, wouldn't I?"  
*******

Despite everything Mycroft had said to discourage Sherlock, he had followed John around nearly all the time since the day he saw him. He had never experienced a state of serenity like the one he did when walking with John. Well, he wasn't technically walking with him, just on his side, but it was amazing nonetheless. Never a dull moment with this fascinating man. His thoughts seemed to amaze Sherlock every second.

Yet it soon become clear that watching John from afar wasn't enough. For some reason, Sherlock was aching to talk to him and see that brilliant smile directed at him. When he saw that pretty doctor kiss John, he felt something hot and unpleasant rise in his chest, and remembered what Mycroft had said "Caring is not an advantage." Maybe he had been right after all, but it couldn't hurt anyone if Sherlock just looked at John, could it? He could just sit back and marvel at the beautiful indigo irises juxtaposed with gold lashes.

Sherlock felt a persistent need to watch over John, even if he couldn't do more.  
Sherlock smiled to himself as he watched John avoid Molly Lestrade throughout the day. She had been nagging and bombarding him with questions about her husband all day.  
Right then, John spotted her and quickly slipped into the lift on his right, Sherlock on his heel. When they got off, John walked straight into a room where a bespectacled chubby doctor stood in the center. The room had a huge glass partition separating it from the hallway outside, and was filled with cradles within which babies slept or stared at the sealing with their twinkling beady eyes, holding their chubby fists in the air.  
"John, to what do I owe the pleasure?"  
"Hey Mike. I just thought I'd say hi"  
"Right. What are you hiding from?"  
John smiled at the baby cradled in Mike's arms  
"I should've gone into pediatrics."  
"Oh, no. Every woman you meet is either married or too busy growing tiny humans."  
John snorted and wiggled a finger, evidently trying to catch the attention of the baby, who was staring at Sherlock right behind him.

"So what are you hiding from?" Mike asked again  
"My patient's wife. She wants me to reassure her. Tell here everything is going to be just fine, and that I have every confidence... and I don't. After all this time, and after all this work, I suddenly have this feeling that none of this is in my hands. Nothing. And if it isn't, what do I do with that?" 

Sherlock looked at the lovely face filled with doubt and confusion, and at that moment he knew, he had to help John Watson.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "- It's so dark right now, I can't see any light around me.   
> \- That's because the light is coming from you. You can't see it but everyone else can.”   
> Lang Leav

When John lifted his head from the mountain of paperwork on the desk, he realized by the ache in his neck that he had been sitting there for hours. The place around him was in semi-darkness and silence.   
He packed his things and got out of the break room. Striding to the exit, he noticed a tall dark figure at the end of the hallway, right by Greg Lestrade's room. No patient could possibly be out roaming the hallways at this hour, and it certainly did not look like a staff member either. John came closer to take a better look at the man who had his back turned to him.  
"Excuse me" he called

The man turned around and earth halted. John froze as if suspended in a bubble as he gazed at the sight before him. He wondered if his sleep-deprived brain was hallucinating the man standing there.

It was a creature of pure light, with a face emanating waves of white glow in the darkness. Ethereal eyes gazed back at John with a mixture of serenity and child-like curiosity. They were a delightful swirl of colors; blue, green, and flecks of silver.  
His features had to be carved in marble, like statues of Greek gods John had seen at museums. The celestial face was all graceful curves and neat angles, framed by thick, warm dark chocolate curls. The man was wrapped in a long black coat, but underneath, there must have been nothing but liquid light.

John forced his brain to function again and willed his mouth to speak.   
"Are you a visitor?" he said hoping his voice did not reveal the bewilderment that had yet to dissipate from his mind.  
"Yes"  
"Visiting hours have been over since 8"  
"Why do they have that?"  
"What?"  
"Hours. Doesn't it help the patient to be visited?"  
"Who are you visiting? Mr. Lestrade?"  
"Right now? You."  
John's heart skipped a beat. It was silly, the man was just confused and didn’t mean anything by it.  
“I don't need a visitor.”  
“You're not ill?”  
“No. I'm one of the doctors here.”  
"But you are in distress."  
Confused, John opened his mouth to reply, but the man continued talking.   
"Your eyes are red-rimmed which indicates lack of sleep, yet you chose to stay late and do dull paperwork. You wanted to occupy your mind with something mechanic and detached, so something is wrong.

It's not something personal, it's to do with work. You've stayed late without planning to beforehand, yet no one is calling or texting you in concern, or else you would be holding your phone or carrying it in your pocket at least. Instead you've discarded it in your backpack. So, no one waiting at home, not family or girlfriend-related.

You have a surgery tomorrow; Mr. Lestrade. It's not major, but you're anxious. You have been carrying his file around all day." He pointed at the folder under John's left arm which said Lestrade on the front, and continued "It's got coffee stains on the edge there. You've been reading it and going over the procedure in your head since morning. You're questioning yourself. Something happened earlier at work that made you second guess everything"

John's mouth fell open. He must have looked like an idiot staring at the man like that, but he thought he really could not be blamed for it.  
"That... was amazing"  
The man's face broke into the most beautiful smile John had ever seen. It was like a flood of light, blindingly gorgeous, and John smiled back.  
Then the smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of such deep concern it made John's heart ache  
“Are you in despair?”  
The translucent eyes bore into John, making him feel exposed, but he could not help trusting the stranger. He couldn’t explain why it felt like the man had been waiting for him there, as if this was meant to happen, and the words came out of their own accord.  
“I lost a patient”  
“You did everything you could” the reply came calmly and confidently  
“I was holding his heart in my hand when he died”  
“Then he wasn't alone”  
“Yes, he was”  
“People die”  
“Not on my table”  
“People die when their bodies give out”  
“It's my job to keep their bodies from giving out. Or what am I doing here?”  
“It wasn't your fault, John”  
“I wanted him to live”  
“He is living. Just not the way you think”  
“I don't believe in that”  
“Some things are true whether you believe in them or not”

John fell silent. The conviction with which the man spoke was incredible  
“How did you know my name?”  
The stranger smiled and pointed at the badge clipped on John's shirt. John unconsciously lifted a hand to touch it and nodded.

"What's yours?"  
"Sherlock"  
John smiled again “Well, you'd better get out of here, Sherlock, or security's going to think you're a psych patient”   
Sherlock smiled again and nodded. John turned around to leave and took a few steps, but he couldn't leave it at that, he wanted to take at least one more look at the impossible eyes, but when he turned back around, Sherlock had disappeared.

Later at home, John was changing when his eyes fell on his badge. He gawked at it for a few seconds then smiled. It said J. Watson, not John Watson.  
***  
Mycroft stood facing the sun, eyes closed. The others had been there already, all facing the sun, long black coats rippling in the wind. It was a formation, a ritual as old as time. Everyone would welcome the rising sun every day. No one questioned it. Sherlock rather liked it.  
Without opening his eyes or turning, Mycroft said: "You've talked to him."  
"Yes" Sherlock answered simply  
"What was it like?"  
"It was like being exhumed"  
Mycroft opened his eyes and turned to Sherlock  
"I suppose I've always known this was never going to be enough for you. You were always too thirsty to see more"  
Sherlock closed his eyes "Well, it doesn't matter, does it? I'll never really… be with him"  
Mycroft turned back towards the sun and didn't say anything.   
****  
At the hospital, Sherlock watched John prepping for the surgery. He looked better. His eyes were clear and hands were steady. Sherlock stood by him through the operation. He did not even fight the temptation to listen in to John's thoughts.  
He was actually humming a children's song. Sherlock laughed and kept on listening  
"London Bridge is falling down  
Falling down, falling down  
London Bridge is falling down  
My fair lady…  
No dying now, Mr. Lestrade. Not until you give me Sherlock's phone number"

Sherlock looked up suddenly in amazement, unable to believe what he had just heard. Warmth he had never experienced before engulfed him. He stared at John, feeling like the sky had been suddenly higher, the ocean bigger, and he could maybe… maybe have this

"London Bridge is falling down  
Falling down, falling down  
London Bridge is falling down  
My fair lady…"

Sherlock could not will himself to leave John's side all day. Seeing him cheerful was even more brilliant, rendered Sherlock even more entranced.   
Back at his flat, John sat in a comfortable chair, head thrown back, and a cup of tea in his hand. Sherlock sat opposite him, wondering how a mortal could look so angelic. Once more, he tuned in to John's beautiful brain. He had grown addicted to the lovely swirl of thoughts, random but fascinating. However John's thoughts right then were serene murmurs, almost like a prayer:  
"Those eyes. The way he looked... right into me. Sherlock… What kind of name is Sherlock?"

Sherlock closed his eyes too, imagining just for a second that he was really with John, a life of nothing but bliss and wonder, truly his…  
***

The world is a mystery that will never be unraveled. The smell of dry tree leaves, the taste of a hot cup of coffee, the feeling of freshly washed linen. Puzzles everywhere, secrets in fluttering wings and slow kisses and the sound of wind.  
What was it like to live? What was it like to cry?

Sherlock closed his eyes, and waited for John.

He sat under a big tree where he knew John took his lunch sometimes. Moments later, he smiled and opened his eyes when he felt it: John. How could he not feel it? Everything was gentler and sweeter when John was around.  
John walked towards Sherlock. A strand of gold sleek hair hung across the lovely forehead, highlighting the contrast between all the gold and sapphire. It reminded Sherlock of the dawn ritual.   
John's eyes grew a bit wide the moment he spotted Sherlock on the bench, and he stopped and smiled  
"Hello"  
"Hello John. It's nice to see you again"  
John hesitated, still smiling.  
"It's weird to see you again"  
"Weird is good"  
John chuckled softly and pointed to the seat "May I?"  
"Please"  
John sat next to Sherlock, as if this was a normal thing to do and did not just fill Sherlock with waves of jubilation.

"So… Have you visited Mr. Lestrade today?"  
"No. How is he?"  
"Yeah, good. The surgery went really well."  
"Good. You're a good doctor, John."  
"You don't know that"  
"I have a feeling"  
"That's flimsy evidence" John grinned  
"What about you?"  
"Hm?"  
"What do you do?"  
Sherlock averted his eyes for a moment "Oh. I'm… a messenger"  
"Like bicycle messenger?"  
"No"  
Sherlock stood up "You're hungry. Let's go have lunch"  
"Okay" John looked bashful for a moment. Perhaps he thought Sherlock was offended by the question, but he got up all the same and they started walking.

***  
Amazing. How was this man real? John felt like he was in the presence of an otherworldly being. Sherlock moved with the grace of a ballet dancer, but there was something else about him, as if he was surrounded by a halo separating him from the world. He seemed far and forbidden, but it did not stop John's heart from hammering every time he was on the receiving end of the piercing gaze.

John picked at his fruit salad as he sat opposite Sherlock, who seemed to just enjoy watching him eat.

"Not hungry?"  
"No. Why do you do that?"  
"What?"  
"Pick the strawberries out"  
John smiled "Because I like them the most"   
"What do they taste like? Describe it"  
"You don't know what a strawberry tastes like?"  
"I don't know what a strawberry tastes like to you"

John fell silent for a moment, looking for the right words,   
"Refreshing, juicy, rich with sweetness, but with a tone of sourness. Tender on your tongue like velvet, but sharp as they dissolve, leaving an aromatic flavor in your mouth" He paused "How is that?"  
"Perfect" Sherlock said with an air of wonder

"You like to observe?" John asked as he took another bite  
"Yes. People are fascinating. Sometimes boring, but I like to watch them anyway"  
"I agree"  
"Why are people fascinating to you?"  
"Well, it is not about people as much as what makes them the way they are. Every cell, bone, muscle, blood vessel. Every single person is unique and different when it comes to their composition, and therefore every single person heals differently. It is my job to study the details and learn how to help them heal"  
"Was this why you became a doctor?"  
"Partly, yes. The first time I looked in a microscope I knew I will always be astonished by it"  
"Show me"  
"Right now?" John was taken aback but please all the same  
"Yes" Sherlock said with endearing enthusiasm.  
"Okay. I have to get back to the hospital anyway. Come with me."  
****

Back at the hospital, John took Sherlock to the laboratory. It was a spacious, spotless room with bright white lights. Cupboards covered most of the walls, and a variety of equipment sat on the white tabletops.   
"Okay, let me have your hand" John said   
"Why?"  
"We'll take a look at your blood"  
"Not a possibility"  
John quirked an eyebrow and smiled "Okay"   
Sherlock watched him as he made a tiny cut on his finger and squeezed two drops of crimson on a slide.  
"Take a look"  
Sherlock peered into the microscope where John was looking moments ago. It was bright, and through it, he saw a galaxy of bright spheres dancing slowly. It was astonishing   
"That's me. All those cells. That's all you are. That and all the space in between" John said.  
"If this is all you are...these cells, then when they die, that's the end"  
"I don't know. I think so" John suddenly wore the same expression of loss that Sherlock saw the first time he met him.  
"I used to think that I had it all figured out." John said  
"But you didn't?"  
"No. Because something happened in my O.R. and I got this jolt. I got this feeling that there's something bigger out there. Something bigger than me, bigger than you, and…" He stopped suddenly and looked at Sherlock in defiance, as if he was expecting him to laugh "Does that sound crazy?"  
"No"  
John's expressions relaxed, his eyes roamed Sherlock's face fondly, making him shiver.  
Sherlock looked back into the lenses. He couldn't stop staring at the shimmering nebula that was the essence of John. It had to be a miracle, had to.   
"This is incredible" he whispered

A high-pitched beep came from John's pocket. He retrieved his pager. "I have to go but I'll be right back" He looked at Sherlock "Just stay right there" He said, as if he was expecting Sherlock to vanish right this moment  
"Okay, John" Sherlock said and watched him leave.

At Mr. Lestrade's room, Sherlock stood unseen, watching John remove a tube from the man's mouth and giving instructions to the nurse. Lestrade coughed weakly.   
"How are you feeling" John asked  
"Never better" Lestrade answered, his cough turning into a gruff laugh. John laughed too, said something to the nurse and they both left the room  
Sherlock looked at Lestrade who was breathing steadily through his nose, and placed a palm on his chest. A shudder went through the man, then he sighed and closed his eyes.  
Sherlock turned to leave, but before he could, he heard a hoarse voice behind him  
"I can't see you, but I know you're there"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lousy deductions, but I really wanted Sherlock to be in character, this is why we all love him right?  
> Also, everything related to medicine I write here is probably wrong, stupid, or stolen from the movie.  
> I quoted Lang Leav again in the chapter, just wanted to acknowledge the additional plagiarism.  
> If you have comments, feedback, suggestions, or would just like to say hi, please go for it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;   
> may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.   
> Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, 
> 
> because in that moment you'll have gone so far   
> I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,   
> Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?   
> Pablo Neruda

Damn it! He should have tied him up or something. Anything to keep him from disappearing like a bloody ghost again!  
God! How was he so smitten like a teenager after meeting this guy twice? He didn't even know his surname. Maybe John should just ask Greg Lestrade once he gets better.  
John opened the door to his flat to find Sarah already there and waiting for him.  
"Oh shit. I forgot all about dinner. Sorry"  
"Where were you today?"  
"I… I met this guy… I bumped into him and we got something to eat."   
As he was hanging his coat he saw his small grey duffel bag on the table  
"Have you packed for me?"  
"What else did you do?"  
"We talked... and then I got beeped and he disappeared. Why did you pack for me?"  
"I thought we'd go to Brighton, relax for a bit" She paused for a moment, but it was clear she had more questions "So, what did you and your friend...What did you say his name was?"  
"Sherlock"  
"What did you two talk about?"  
"Dying"  
Sarah's eyebrows went up  
"Come on, we deal with life and death every day. Why can't we talk about it? Now, can we talk for a minute?"  
"We'll talk at Brighton"  
"Sarah, I can't go to the beach now"  
She came closer and put her arms around his neck "We need some time together"  
She was right of course. They needed time together, to remember and put a shape to whatever they had. He and Sarah were always on good terms because they understood that the job came first, and that each one of them leads an independent life from the other. They've always given each other space and time, and this was how it worked. Sarah was kind and beautiful and had known him for a long time, but John felt like something was missing. He thought of how easy it was to talk to Sherlock. It was depressing to think that in two conversations he had shared with him more than he ever did with Sarah.  
"All right." John said "Can we just… Let's see if we can just stand still together for 5 minutes"  
"Doing what?"  
"Just being here"  
"I'll make tea"  
"No, Sarah, wait. I mean it. Nothing but us"  
"What do I do?"  
"Just… look at me"  
She stared at him. This was not playing out the way he had imagined. He just wanted to share a moment with her… to feel something… to give this a chance, but he soon felt like an idiot and burst out laughing.  
"You can't do it" She started laughing too and leaned in for a kiss.  
Later, John lied awake in bed, listening to the faint sounds of the street outside. Sarah had fallen asleep hours ago. He looked at her with resentment, because really, how can she sleep so quickly! How can people do that?  
He tried to clear his head, but all he could do was think of when he would get to see Sherlock again.  
****  
Greg Lestrade relaxed back in bed watching crap telly.   
"You want to watch anything?" he said, looking at a spot near the door opposite Sherlock, who sat in a chair by the window. "Me neither."  
Greg had been talking to Sherlock as if he were one of the many visitors who went in and out of the room all day. Never in front of anyone else though. Sherlock was dumbfounded, but rather intrigued. He had been watching Greg for some time, and the man was most certainly not insane. He was actually speaking to him, and Sherlock was ready to figure what on earth was going on right this moment.  
"How do you know when I'm here?"  
Greg's face turned and he grinned the moment he saw Sherlock. He did not even flinch at the fact that someone had materialized out of nowhere in his hospital room.  
"I know" he said while sitting up in bed "Christ, you look good. I forgot how good everybody looked" then he started laughing, which was even more puzzling.  
"You got backbone, showing yourself like that, mate. I appreciate that. It'll make it easier." Greg said casually. "I got to tell you though, I feel fine. You might want to check your orders because I sure don't feel like I'm dying."  
"You're not dying"  
"Right. Then how come you're hanging around my room all the time? I'm the only one with his arse hanging out of a dress" he said petulantly.  
Sherlock was too befuddled to say anything, and suddenly, Greg's eyes lit up with a mixture of amusement and recognition.   
"Unless… Could it be... the doctor?"  
That was too much. He knew too much, and this puzzle was getting less amusing and more suspicious   
"Sure, the doctor" Greg repeated with a knowing smile.  
"Who are you?"  
"Oooh this is good"  
Greg removed his cover and reached for his clothes, grunting in discomfort.  
"I can answer all your questions, friend. Come on"  
****  
Three plates laden with food were set in front of Greg, who dug in as if he hadn't eaten in days. He had dragged Sherlock to a restaurant close to the hospital.  
"Reckon I should introduce myself" Greg said with a mouth full of sausage and extended his hand over the table to Sherlock, who took it reluctantly.  
"Greg Lestrade. Glutton, hedonist, former celestial body, and recent addition to the human race" he said with a proud grin.  
"I don't believe you"  
"You want proof? You can speak every language, you travel with the speed of thought, you gather at every sunrise and sunset" He stopped and looked Sherlock in the eye.  
"And you're reading my mind right now" Sherlock heard, though Greg's lips did not move.  
"Stop that"  
"It's true"  
"It's impossible"  
"Some things are true whether you believe them or not"  
"… How?"  
"You choose"  
"Choose?"  
"To fall to Earth. You take the plunge, the tumble, the dive… You jump off a bridge, leap out a window. You just make up your mind to do it and you do it"  
He was silent for a moment as he took another bite "You wake up all smelly, and aching from head to toe and hungrier than you've ever been, only you have no idea what hunger is or any of that stuff... so it's all really confusing and painful, but very… very good"  
Every thought left Sherlock's mind except for John… John… John. Could he really be with him? Would John be with him if Sherlock sacrifices everything? Descend to Earth, become an immortal, give up all the beauty ha was privy to…  
But hope vanished as quickly as it had come. John had a girlfriend. John had a life. Maybe he wouldn't want Sherlock after all.  
"Listen" Greg broke the silence "He gave these gits the greatest gift in the universe. You think He didn't give it to us too?"  
"Which gift?"  
"Free will, brother. Free will"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but the next one will have a kiss :)  
> Sorry for the poetry spam, but I love it and it helps me write.
> 
> If you have comments, feedback, suggestions, please go ahead!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ay, the pain it costs me  
> to love you as I love you!"  
> Lorca

Greg had somehow convinced Sherlock to take him to the top of a towering building. He took out a cigarette, and started pulling deep breaths and puffing out smoke with relish as they watched the glittering lights beneath.  
Sherlock stared at the cigarette. He moved his hand to grab it to see how the tiny flame remained lit and what was inside the small tube that seemed to put Greg in such a good mood.  
"Hey now, these things will kill you" Greg said, batting Sherlock's hand away.  
"So why did you do it?"  
Greg's face lit up as he took out his wallet, where he had a photo of the woman who had nagged John for days about her husband. Molly had beautiful brown eyes that glittered with a strange mixture of innocence and mischief. Greg stared at the photo with so much affection and pride, Sherlock suddenly understood how he had known about John.  
"This my Molly" He said, uttering the name with reverence "When I took the plunge, I couldn't get a job… No past, no training, No I.D. But she didn't care, she stayed with me, supported me, helped me catch up on education and whatnot. And now I'm a bloody police inspector, do you believe it?"  
"Did you tell her the truth?"  
"I started to try once or twice, then I thought 'Why do that to her?'"  
"Do what?"  
"It's too much for them. People don't believe in us anymore" He seemed to be lost in thought for a bit, then came back to himself, flipping the photo to reveal another one behind it. This one showed a curly-haired boy laughing madly.  
"And that's my little monster, Archie" he said fondly.  
"Are there others… like you?"  
"Yeah, they're out there. You see them, but most of the time you just walk on by. Nobody likes to think of the old life… You know, what they gave up"  
Greg put out his cigarette, and stood up facing the wind. He spread his arms, eyes tightly shut and feet right on the edge "oh, but it's worth it. Feeling this. It's worth it."  
***  
"I warned you Sherlock, don't get involved" Mycroft said. Sherlock didn't answer, but kept staring at the canvas of twinkling buildings and streets spread underneath them.  
"There is so much beauty up here" Sherlock said, wondering how he could ever lose this.  
"Did you know?" he asked Mycroft, somehow knowing the answer.  
"Yes"  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
"Because I knew you'd do it for him"  
"What if I do?"  
"Humans change, Sherlock. Sentiment doesn't last. You will regret it." He paused, seemingly reluctant to continue, but he did anyway "and your loss would break my heart."  
Sherlock smiled weakly at this. After all this time, Mycroft was still trying to protect him. To spare him the pain that came with associating with the unpredictable and messy creatures that were humans. Sherlock had had Mycroft on his side for as long as he could remember. He never tried to question or explain it, but he believed he would always count on that unconditional affection and guidance. It was surprising, really, that Mycroft didn't understand Sherlock's love for John, when he himself had given Sherlock nothing but love and protection.  
"What do I do, Mycroft?"  
"You do what you choose to do." He smiled "I was always the smart one anyway"  
Sherlock laughed, and they both sat in silence for a long time.  
***  
John rode his bike slowly under the blooming trees, breathing in the morning air, and listening to the rustle of leaves above. He cast subtle looks around, but there was no one in the park at that hour.  
Aware of how idiotic this plan was, he was still determined to run into Sherlock again, and so he decided to go to the place where he met him last time.  
What were the odds, really? But John was driven by complete and utter desperation. He could not resist it, he was literally sick with yearning. A constant fever was ever aflame in his heart, and a shiver ran through him insistently. He wasn't even denying it anymore, he had met the love of his life, and he had to see him again.  
John glanced along the path ahead, and there he was… there was Sherlock again. Whatever deity is out there, John secretly thanked it as he spotted the long graceful silhouette standing, as if waiting.  
"Do you know you have a habit of randomly materializing everywhere?" John said as he came closer, and Sherlock gave him that soft and infuriatingly gorgeous smile.  
"We'll release your friend Lestrade tomorrow"  
"That's good"  
"His family's having a welcome-home party"  
"Will you be going?"  
"Will you be going?" John echoed with a smile.

"Why can't you sleep?" Sherlock suddenly asked, taking John by surprise, but he had gotten used to the random questions by now. It rather amused him in all honesty. He smiled and thought of his answer for a minute.  
"I don't know. Sometimes my head feels too empty." He paused for a minute, smiling at the fact that Sherlock was so talented at making him talk, he could get a murder confession out of him if he wanted to.  
"Sometimes, I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, not small, but circumscribed. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? I feel like there should have been more to it than this. Maybe I should have joined the military like I've always imagined I would after all, but the truth is, right now it feels like… nothing ever happens to me"  
John was amazed at his own words, but it felt strangely comforting to finally say them out loud.  
"What about your girlfriend? Do you love her?"  
"Love… I don't know. What does that mean?"  
"I was hoping you could tell me"  
"It's a chemical react..." No, he wasn't going to pull this crap now, not on Sherlock.  
"Listen… this is insane. I wait all day… just hoping for one more minute with you...and I don't even know you" he stammered, feeling heat rising in his face.  
"What do you want to know?" Sherlock simply asked  
John took a step forward, his whole being pulled into the orbit of the other body. He took a deep breath and spoke again.  
"Why do you wear the same clothes all the time? Why won't you give me your phone number? Are you married?"  
"No"  
"Are you homeless?"  
"No"  
John hesitated for a moment, but that was it, he felt his heart racing madly in his chest.  
"Why don't you ever touch me?"  
"I don't want to hurt you" Sherlock said, and his beautiful face was filled with sorrow. It made John want to touch him so badly it hurt.  
John took yet another step and closed the space between them "You won't hurt me" He whispered.  
He lifted his face and brushed his mouth against the hollow of Sherlock's temple. He traced the line of Sherlock's cheekbone gently, gliding his lips on the soft skin. He then looked up into the strange mesmerizing eyes, and just like that, his lips were against Sherlock's perfect mouth.  
A million roses bloomed in John's heart. He covered Sherlock's full lips with his, feeling a surging tide of warmth that left him limp. His hand found Sherlock's face, and he cupped the graceful curve of his cheek. Everything was blurred and drowned to nothingness. The soft caress of tender lips flooded John's senses as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world.  
When their lips parted, John realized he wasn't breathing, and he let out a shuddering breath, eyes still closed, and hand still cupped around pale perfection.  
He opened his eyes slowly, heart fluttering "Did you feel that?"  
But Sherlock's face was passive, and he stared back at John with the same sorrowful expression… now almost apologetic, and John suddenly felt cold all over.  
"If I could make you understand..." Sherlock began.  
If John hadn't dedicated years and years of his life to study the human heart and its every detail, he would have confidently sworn that he felt his heart smash into a million pieces at the moment. Black, liquid ache crawled through his stomach into his chest, prickling and painful in his eyes. He felt his lips tremble, but he pursed them and stepped back  
"I understand" John said, trying to control his broken voice "I'll see you."  
He reached clumsily for his bicycle, turned around stiffly, and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's difficult to write a kiss scene isn't it?  
> Don't know if I'd done that properly, so if you have any feedback please go ahead!  
> Forgot to say I've stolen a line from You've Got Mail cause I'm a sucker for old romantic Meg Rayan movies!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.   
> Walt Whitman

As soon as the door opened, John found himself on the receiving end of a crushing hug. Greg had recovered quite nicely judging by the pats bordering on painful he was administering to John's back.  
"Doc.! Thought you'd never show up. Come in!" he beamed as he guided him inside.  
John had thought he wouldn't come either. It was too painful to even think of what had happened the other day at the park, but it was a battle of pride and pain against an unfathomable urge to breathe the same air with Sherlock one more time. It was a lost battle of course, John knew that much.  
He had turned around to leave at least five times before finally deciding to ring the bell. He told himself he had come this far anyway, might as well enjoy himself.  
Greg dragged him through the house, introducing him to friends and relatives with words like "guardian angel" used very loosely if John could say so, but he was too distracted looking for emerald eyes amidst the rowdy party.  
"Dr. Watson!" a soft and a bit too enthusiastic voice shouted behind him. He turned around to find himself in yet another hug with a very excited Molly Lestrade.  
"Please call me John" he said as he attempted to pat her back awkwardly.  
"I'm so glad you made it. I was telling Greg how bad I'd been feeling about being so dreadful to you at the hospital, but well, you know. Greg made me so worried"  
"It's alright" John said, smiling at this completely different Molly, who took a hold of his arm and led him to the back garden. The sun was shining and the weather was perfect.

Sherlock was sitting at a table by the edge of the garden. A curly-haired boy that John recognized from the picture Greg had shown him sat next to him and they were both whispering conspiratorially.  
Molly was still dragging John by the hand and was now heading straight for Sherlock's table. John wondered if Greg had set her up for this.   
They sat in awkward silence for moments, but Molly was not having any of that. She was jumping about, trying to entertain everyone.   
"Aren't you hungry, Sherlock?" she asked  
Sherlock shook his head.   
"So, where are you from?" Molly asked while handing everyone drinks, and John waited eagerly to hear the answer.  
"Up" Sherlock answered, shrugging.  
"North. Uh, Scotland" Greg hastily interjected.  
Archie was whispering in Sherlock's ear again and giggling.  
"Smile, Archie!" Molly said as she took a photo with one of those vintage Polaroid instant cameras. She was snapping pictures left and right and showing them to everyone, announcing that "No one takes real photos anymore!"  
"How long have you known Sherlock?" John turned to Greg.  
"Not very long" Greg said, sounding a bit flustered, which was curious. "But I feel like I've known him forever" he added, as if to make up for his clumsy answer.  
"Honey, stop pestering the nice man and come help me with the biscuits" Molly called to her son.  
The boy grabbed Sherlock's hand as he got up "Come on!"  
"Can I help you?" Sherlock asked Molly, smiling at the boy.  
"Yeah, thanks"  
John turned to Greg again, a strange feeling that something was very wrong growing in his mind.  
"How did you two meet?" he asked, this time observing every change in Greg's expressions.  
"He works with the Yard sometime… Consultation." Greg said, scratching his face. He was evidently a bad liar.  
"I thought he was a messenger"  
"Uh… Yeah, he… does that… on the side"  
John glared at him. Something was definitely not right. And he was going to get to the bottom of it tonight.  
As John watched Greg leave to greet other guests, his eyes fell on the Polaroid photo Molly had snapped moments earlier. He looked at it with a grimace. There was Archie, smiling to the camera, but next to him, right where Sherlock was supposed to be, was a blur of white light.  
***

"You're just like daddy" Archie whispered to Sherlock, pulling his curls. Sherlock smiled at him.  
"My daddy is a detective. He solves murders and sees lots of dead people. Have you ever seen a dead person?"  
"Yes"  
"Cool!" Archie giggled.   
Sherlock looked everywhere except for the corner where John sat. He took the first opportunity to follow Molly into the kitchen. It seemed that no matter where he turned, he couldn't escape the wounded gaze. He wanted to talk to John, apologize, soothe, but he didn't know how.   
Too soon though, the chill of the night was creeping into the garden. People were gradually leaving, and the party was coming to an end. Sherlock saw John get up and thank Greg and Molly, and without thinking he followed him out to the street.  
This must seem strange to people, Sherlock thought, but he couldn't resist an urge to stay as close to John as possible, so he kept walking behind him.  
Eventually, John stopped, speaking without turning around.  
"You know you could just walk next to me if you like" Sherlock could hear a smile in his voice, and it was all the invitation he needed.  
They walked in comfortable silence, their hands occasionally nudging, and Sherlock found himself hopeful again. Maybe John could forgive him after all.   
John didn't live far, and soon they were standing in front of 221B Baker Street.  
"Come in" John said as he turned his key in the lock and went inside. Sherlock followed. He had seen John's flat before, but never truly observed it, as he was too occupied with staring at the delightful creature that was John Watson.  
He surveyed the place, stopping at a small bookcase filled with mystery novels, many of them by an author called Agatha Christie.  
John took out two mugs and started making tea.  
"So in what city in Scotland were you born?  
"I wasn't born in Scotland"  
"What are your parents' names?"  
"No parents"  
John came closer, looked down Sherlock's arm.  
"You have very delicate hands. Let me see." His voice had a hint of accusation for some reason.   
"Why?" Sherlock noticed then that John had something his hand, but he was distracted as the handsome face came nearer.  
"Very pale hands" John repeated.  
Sherlock listened to John's shallow breath as he came even closer. Their lips were inches apart, and just when he thought he was going to kiss him again, he felt something. He looked down and saw Jon run the tip of a knife against his palm.  
Sherlock flinched violently, held his hand to his chest and took a step back "Why did you do that?"  
But John was still staring incredulously down "Let me see your hand"  
"No"  
"What's your last name?" there was anger and fear in his voice now.  
"You know my last name"  
"I don't"  
Sherlock looked around in panic, and John took the opportunity to grab his hand, which was still pale and perfectly unharmed. John stared.  
"I cut… I cut you… I cut you with that knife! I felt it go in" He stammered hysterically "You felt it!"  
"Not the way you do" Sherlock said. This was it. John was going to find out, and he would lose him forever.  
"The way I do? What does that mean? You mean the way a doctor does? What?"  
"The way... a human does. I have no sense of touch"  
John's eyes were wide with shock and disbelief. He started taking panicked steps backwards.  
"Don't be frightened" Sherlock said, feeling more afraid himself by the minute.  
"You liar! Who... What are you?" John shouted at him.  
"I came to take Mr. Wilson... and I saw you" Sherlock said miserably, feeling hurt and despair closing in. "I couldn't take my eyes off you. How you fought for him… And you looked right at me... like I was a man!"  
"To take Mr. Wilson?" John repeated.  
"I was there" Sherlock nodded "We're always there… in every room"  
"What are you talking about?" John was running shaky fingers through his hair and rubbing his face.  
"I was there in the stairwell... when you cried for your patient, and I touched you. Remember?"  
John shook his head repeatedly and closed his eyes as if he couldn't stand to look at Sherlock anymore.  
"Why are you doing this?"  
This time, Sherlock was the one who came closer. He took John's trembling hand in his. He rested his forehead against John's and whispered desperately.  
"Because I'm in love with you"  
But John stepped back as if he was burned by the words, extricating himself from Sherlock's hand  
"I don't believe you" he glared, eyes now twinkling with unshed tears. "Do you feel that?" he added.  
"You don't want to believe me"  
"I cannot conceive of it!" he yelled again.  
"John…"  
John turned around "Just get out!" he shouted "Get out!"  
And the words went through Sherlock like cold wind. He felt himself shrink. The world had never been smaller, and he had never been more alone.   
In just a moment, he disappeared, swallowed by a gaping chasm of misery and loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, so... sorry?  
> I don't know. I struggled with this chapter and now it feels too sad and miserable
> 
> Any thoughts anyone? I'm feeling very self-conscious about this one :(


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
> (Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
> and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows  
> higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
> And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
> 
> I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)  
> E. E. CUMMINGS

"Doctor… Doctor Watson!"  
John snapped out of his reverie to find the OR nurse staring at him in concern.  
"The patient is ready for you"  
"Yeah. Thanks"  
He waited as the nurse tied the apron behind his back, feeling Sarah's eyes on him. She had been giving him this assessing look for days now, constantly asking him what was wrong. It set him on edge for some reason.  
He was angry that his distress was so obvious, frustrated with how distracted he had been, and most of all just simply miserable.  
His mind was still not recovered from the storm of confusion and hurt, yet he was haunted by Sherlock's face everywhere he went. His imagination creating an illusion of the long slender figure in random places, but Sherlock had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared in John's life.  
The moon-pale face only made an appearance in the haze of dreams that invaded what minimal shuteye John was able to get between intervals of tormenting insomnia. He had never felt more tired, and everything he did was mechanic and devoid of feelings.  
Once has was finished with the procedure, he stepped out of the OR and into the adjoining empty room. He sat and tried to take long deep breaths as he stared at the floor.  
A knock on the door was followed by Sarah's delicate face peering into the room, now without her cap and mask. She looked worried but she knew better than to ask what was wrong by now.  
"That was nicely done."  
"Thanks" He gave her a smile, feeling guilty for having been so edgy with her on top of everything else. Sarah did not deserve this.  
"John, I need to talk to you about something"  
She sat on a stool next to him "Remember that position I applied for in Germany? Well, I got an offer" she paused smiling "a really good offer"  
"That's great Sarah. I'm happy for you" he took her hand in his encouragingly.  
But her face fell at that "Well, I was wondering" she squeezed his fingers "If you… would come with me. They have another open position. It's a very prestigious hospital, John. It's what we've always worked for!" the words tumbled out of her mouth quickly as if she suddenly found the courage to speak.  
He stared at her. This was surprising to put it mildly, and deep down, he wondered if their already fragile relationship could stand a chance through all of that.  
"Sarah… I"  
"Don't…" she interrupted "Just think about it, John. I know you haven't been feeling like yourself lately, but we can do this. We belong together, we understand each other"  
She leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her back, still trying to wrap his head around all of this.  
"Just think about it" She repeated as she left the room  
****  
Sherlock's world took a deep, sharp tumble into void. The loss of John was like a weight pulling him deeper every day.  
"If this is love, I do not want it" he said, feeling darkness engulf every part of his world "Take it from me. Please!" he beseeched weekly.  
Mycroft contemplated this quietly, then he wrapped an arm around him "I'm sorry." was all he said.  
Sherlock knew Mycroft could not take it. His love for John was an eternal imprint that would never be wiped away, so he wandered the streets, watching the aimless succession of night and day across the heavens, until one night, he heard it.  
It was faint and sad, like the rustle of a butterfly's wings. He heard his name being called, a murmured supplication from the lips he so longed to feel.  
He was there in a blink of an eye, but he could not bear to let John see him now, not yet.  
"Sherlock" John whispered again "Are you here?"  
Sherlock feasted his eyes on the beautiful features. It was dark and quiet, and John was lying in bed, staring into the space ahead and whispering desperately into the void.  
"I want to see you. Please. Let me see you."  
Sherlock came closer, still hidden from sight. He knew John felt it, though he couldn't see him. He sighed as Sherlock lied behind to him and wrapped his arms around his lean frame, a cherished treasure under his watchful gaze.  
"Just stay." John whispered again, closing his eyes "Just stay until I fall asleep."  
And Sherlock did.  
****  
"Inhale. Exhale" John repeated as he listened to Greg's heartbeat.  
"Looks like your heart is recovering nicely"  
"What about yours?"  
John looked at Greg's face searchingly "Do you know about…"  
Greg nodded silently, and John had to stop for a moment and marvel at what he was actually saying. He had made peace with it by now, but it was still strange, and more importantly infuriating.  
"I don't understand a God who would let us meet, if we could never be together" He heard all the bitterness and anger in his voice, but he couldn't hide it if he wanted to.  
"He didn't tell you" Greg said, eyes a bit wide.  
John frowned "Tell me what?"  
"Maybe you should ask him"  
"No, I'm asking you"  
Greg looked reluctant and lost for words for a bit, but he seemed to make up his mind as he began talking again.  
Sherlock knows no fear, no pain, no hunger. But he'd give it all up. He loves you that much"  
"I don't understand"  
"He can fall. He can give up his existence as he knows it… give up eternity and become... one of us."  
"How do you know this?" John managed to utter the words though his heart and mind were racing.  
"Because I did it" Greg met his eyes, and John smiled. Because in that moment, he knew exactly what to do.  
****  
"Sherlock"  
"Sherlock, I need to talk to you" the call came again, soft and gentle in Sherlock's ear.  
"Sherlock, please. Please be here"  
John stood in the park in the spot where they kissed for the first time. He lifted his hands to rub at his eyes "God, help me through this" he muttered.  
Then, when he opened his eyes again, Sherlock was there.  
"You are so beautiful" John said with a sad smile "You'll always be that way"  
Sherlock didn't say anything, but waited.  
"Sarah asked me to go away with her" John said with clipped tones, as if every word cost him so much.  
"She knows me. She loves me"  
"You don't love her"  
"She and I are the same, and I want that. I want somebody who can feel my hand when I touch them"  
"But you can feel me… You felt me" Sherlock felt like he was drowning, desperately reaching for something to grasp in the cold water.  
"I want to say goodbye" John's voice broke a little but he continued "I don't want to see you again" he said, and left.  
****  
Sherlock could not feel the cold breeze on his face as he climbed onto the ledge, but he knew he would soon. He lifted his face to the heavens, and spread his arms for one final embrace of life as he knows it.  
The music was deafening in his ears as he closed his eyes, a blurred swirl of images rushed through his head. For the last time ever, he could hear the murmur of the unseen world. Voices around the earth, begging, crying, laughing, moaning, whispering…  
The wild crescendo was swelling, the singing of angels bidding him farewell, and the rumble of the very heart of the universe were all in his ears. He let himself dive into the air, watching the rush of light and color pass by as he fell, and fell, and fell.

                                                              

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plagiarism alert: line stolen from The Hobbit as you may have noticed


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When love beckons to you, follow him,  
> Though his ways are hard and steep.  
> And when his wings enfold you yield to him,  
> Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.  
> And when he speaks to you believe in him,  
> Though his voice may shatter your dreams  
> as the north wind lays waste the garden.   
> Kahlil Gibran

Oh, this must be what pain feels like. Sherlock's eyes remained closed as he analyzed the different sensations. Sharp nails dug into his right arm and side. He suspected it was because he had been lying on them. There was more. His head felt like it was too full and too hollow at the same time, a dull thud of ache played an agonizing rhythm through his skull,   
Theses pains were too spread across to pinpoint in one place. Other pains were different. They stung like a hot needle on the side of his lip, above his left eye, and on the tips of his fingers. These felt hot and piercing, calling for more attention.  
The sounds around him were a mixture of traffic, people talking, and the deafening mechanic wailing of an ambulance  
The smells though were the most fascinating element thus far. The salty, hot odor of sweat and blood, intertwined with the cold sweet scent of the rain. So much input. So much data to file and categorize  
Slowly, he opened his eyes, not all the way, just a small crack. He was too scared to see everything just yet. Scared… Yes, fear of the unknown! He was feeling it in his chest and stomach, unlike curiosity, which was mostly located in his head and hands  
He gradually took in the blinding lights and colors around him. The world was bathed in a dull grey glow. Sherlock found the courage to open his eyes properly now, and for a moment he tried to make sense of everything he was feeling  
Ache, exhaustion, confusion, excitement, joy, love! John, John, John!

"Sir, are you alright? Have you been taking anything?"  
He was finally able to make out the sentence and hear the question asked from somewhere above him, but all he could do is marvel at the crimson on the tips of his fingers  
"Sticky" he whispered  
"He's wasted" another voice, this one huskier, said from above  
"Maybe he has a concussion!" a softer voice replied  
Sherlock moved his neck, feeling every muscle protesting. He stared at the faces looking from above  
"Do you see me?" he asked  
No answer was given, the woman and two men just exchanged looks of confusion and concern  
"Can you see me?" Sherlock repeated  
"We can see you" one of the men said, smirking at him now  
He summoned all the strength in him to lift his hand  
"Is this blood?"  
The smirk turned into a snicker as the man answered  
"Yes. That's your blood alright, mate"  
"What color is it?"  
"What color were the drugs you took?"  
Sherlock frowned at the question, but the people standing above him were now looking behind them at a medic who appeared out of nowhere  
"Come on. You're going to the hospital"  
"Yes" Sherlock suddenly yelled, startling the small group of people around him "Take me to Bart's, to John!"

The trip to the hospital was a 10-minute battle to keep medics from poking at his face and forcing him to stay still. He refused to lie in a stretcher or sit in a chair, and once they arrived, he fled their gloved hands and entered the hospital's reception area running  
"John Watson!" He said to the receptionist, who looked at him in horror  
He wanted to explain more, but he found he had to draw in deeper and quicker breathes for a moment  
"I'll just take a moment to catch my breath" he said panting "Breath!" he giggled, and the woman's eyes went wider  
"I need to see John Watson, where is he?"  
"Are you a patient?" the receptionist replied skeptically  
"No. I just need to find him, please."  
"Dr. Watson is not in today. You'll have to call his office. Someone there can help you."  
"Do you know where he is?"  
"No, sir, I do not know where he is."  
Sherlock looked around him in desperation, his eyes fell on the computer sitting on the desk in front of the receptionist, and reached for the colorful wires,   
"You have this computer... and all this technology. Can't you look him up?"  
The receptionist was startled at the movement and looked like she was about to kick him out, but as he glanced behind her he saw a familiar face  
"Mike!"  
Mike turned at the sound and looked at Sherlock in confusion  
"Mike! Where's John?"  
"Dr. Stamford, this man is asking for Dr. Watson and I'm afraid he isn't around" the receptionist said, looking at Mike, apparently hoping he would ask Sherlock to leave  
But Mike was looking at the wounds on his face and fingers. Much like John, he was first and foremost a healer and a care-taker.  
"Alright. Why don't you come with me so we can look at these cuts and then we'll see about Dr. Watson, hmm?"

Sherlock followed him through the white halls, and let himself be guided to sit on a bed behind a curtain  
Mike took a piece of gauze and started dabbing at Sherlock's brow. White, hot pain pierced through Sherlock, and he winced and instinctively recoiled   
"Sorry!" Mike said with a sympathetic grimace, and Sherlock relaxed again   
"So you're a friend of John's?"  
Sherlock nodded silently  
"What happened to you?  
"I fell"  
"Evidently. Off a train?"  
"I fell in love"  
Mike's hand stopped dabbing at the wounds abruptly, and he looked into Sherlock's eyes   
"Please help me find him" he put all the pain and confusion he felt into the words, hoping Mike would believe him.  
Mike sighed in resignation and smiled.  
"He went to Sussex. His family has a cabin there in Brighton"  
Sherlock jumped to his feet, and headed outside ignoring Mike's calls.  
****  
John was sitting in front of the fire when he heard something at the door.  
It wasn't a knock as much as the sound of someone leaning on the door. The moment his hand slid on the handle, his arms were suddenly full of a wet thin shivering body.  
Sherlock's face was pale, but it wasn't the gorgeous paleness that always made him glow. He looked ill and malnourished, with small cuts and bruises on his cheek, mouth, and brow.   
John could not believe his eyes. Sherlock had lost the shimmering halo that always surrounded him, he was more defined, more real, and well… more alive, and had never looked more beautiful.  
"Sherlock, what happened" John was now supporting his full weight and they were both sliding to the floor. Sherlock's eyes were closed, but a soft smile was making the beautiful face look even more heart-breaking.  
"I found you, John. I found you"  
"What happened to you?" John asked as he hauled Sherlock into the living room and close to the fire. He was drenched in water. He had evidently been walking in the rain. His beautiful curls were stuck on his forehead and there were bits of dry blood on various places on his face and hands.  
"Who did this to you?"  
"I was looking for someone to get me to you." He answered weakly "and some men beat me up. They thought I had money, but I didn't"  
"Oh my God. Come on, take these off, let me see"  
He started peeling off his clothes. The heavy coat fell to the floor, followed by shirt and trousers, revealing flawless ivory in their wake. John sighed in relief as he did not see any serious injuries. He took a deep breath as he led the pliable body to the bathroom. He made Sherlock sit on the edge of the tub as he ran warm water and got his first aid kit.  
Sherlock's tired eyes remained fixed on John's face as he gently cleaned the cuts on his face. He stared at him, as if contemplating a treasure he was afraid of losing.  
"How did you get here?"  
"I asked Mycroft for help"  
"You asked… Mycroft?"  
"Yes" Sherlock nodded "He sent me someone to help" he stopped for a moment and closed his eyes again "It hurts, John"  
"I know. I'm sorry. Does anything else hurt? Did you hit your head?"  
"No. I'm just cold"  
"Alright. Get in the water. It'll warm you up"  
John felt an irrational urge to hold him and take away all the pain. He slowly helped him into the tub, and started stroking the damp mess of curls.  
"It's okay. It's alright. You're here now" he whispered.  
"Am I too late?" Sherlock said miserable as he took John's hand.  
"Too late?"  
"Sarah. Will you go with her? Will you leave?"  
"No." John smiled and kissed his hand gently "I'm not in love with her. I'm in love with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inner OCD wanted this to be 10 chapters, but it looks like it's going to be just 9. Oh well!  
> Fair warning as the next chapter will include explicit content.
> 
> If you have comments, feedback, or anything to say, please go ahead. I probably should have said this in the beginning but English is NOT my first language, so if it feels like something is wrong then I'm probably thinking in another language. Sorry!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take joy from the fresh landscape of my wound,  
> break out the reeds, and the delicate streams,  
> and taste the blood, split, on my thighs of sweetness.
> 
> But quick! So that joined together, and one,  
> time will find us ruined,  
> with bitten souls, and mouths bruised with love.
> 
> Lorca
> 
> Sigh. I love Lorca so much!  
> This is it, the last chapter!

Sherlock discovered the meaning of warmth the moment he felt John's lips on his. Pleasant heat rose in his chest and face as their mouths moved gently. John's fingers were tangled in his hair, and he trapped Sherlock's lower lip with his warm mouth and suckled softly. A small tornado erupted in Sherlock's stomach and he heard himself moan. John let go for a moment and whispered "Sherlock, look at me."  
Sherlock opened his eyes, a strange mixture of weakness and exuberance making him feel dazed. John smiled affectionately.  
"Did you feel that?"  
"Yes." His voice was deep and strange to his ears.  
And then Jon was kissing him again, stronger and more passionate this time. He ran a hot tongue on Sherlock's closed lips, making him shiver and open his mouth instinctively. Then, something strange happened. Sherlock felt a dire urge to taste the wet soft tongue, and he couldn't stop himself from chasing it into John's mouth. He sucked on it for a moment before opening his eyes and looking at John, searching his face for disapproval, but John looked as wrecked as he felt, and he plunged his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, tasting, licking, and biting urgently.  
His heart was beating wildly as if it was trying to escape the cage of his ribs, and his brain was shutting everything down except for the delicious kiss. But he wanted more, he needed more of the taste of John, the smell of John, the feel of John. Unconsciously, he lifted a hand and grabbed John's collar, tugging him towards his body. John was still sitting on the floor next to the tub, and huffed a small laugh as he was being pulled inside.  
He stopped kissing him, which was unacceptable to every single cell in Sherlock's body, so he pulled him again, but John put his perfect small hand on his lips and whispered again between shallow breaths.  
"Do you want this? Are you sure?"  
"Yes, John. Please, get closer to me" Sherlock said and opened his mouth to taste John's hand. He did not care if that was not a usual part of the love-making ritual to people, he wanted to indulge in the exquisite taste and compare the flavors on different parts of John's body.  
Suddenly John was moving back and away. He quickly peeled off his jumper, revealing golden planes of delectable torso. Sherlock stared, too scared to blink lest he misses any detail. John took off his trousers and pants too. Under his belly button, a trail of blonde hair led to a nest where a very flushed cock was bobbing between two strong thighs. Sherlock heard himself moan again, and he swallowed when he saw a clear bead appearing on the tip of the delicious thing.  
John climbed into the tub slowly, straddling Sherlock's thighs, and finally, he was kissing him again, hands buried in his hair, pulling gently, and making Sherlock squirm.  
He put his arms around John's torso and pulled him until their chests were flushed against each other, and Sherlock could feel the erect cock on his belly and his… oh! He was hard too, extremely hard in fact, which explained the curious sensation of ache, pleasure, and throbbing that was between his legs.  
Then John did something amazing again. He lined up their erections and started moving, still devouring Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock's grip became tighter and tighter around John's back as he felt his whole body throbbing with pleasure and need for more.  
John's clever mouth moved to his neck, kissing and licking as Sherlock found himself joining in the rhythm and moving up and down with a string of deep moans issuing from his mouth without him ever intending to make them.  
Sherlock did not think it could get any better, but smart, beautiful John could make everything better. He reached a hand and wrapped it around both of them.  
Sherlock felt a delicious tremor run through him as they moved faster, the water around them splashing gently, adding to the composition they were playing with their bodies.  
"Can you feel this?" John panted.  
"Yes… yes!" Sherlock answered.  
"Tell me how it feels. Describe it"  
"I… oh" he tipped his head back onto the edge of the tub as John continued licking and biting at his neck and chest "I can't"  
"Try" John urged.  
"Warm… uh… aching… sweet, but… maddening, like falling" Sherlock managed to say the words, though they were interjected with small moans and sighs.  
"It's okay sweetheart. I've got you" John said softly and increased the speed and pressure. His hand slid up a bit on their erections, and held both so the heads were touching. It made Sherlock scream as the sensation overwhelmed him.  
"Kiss me" Sherlock managed, and their mouths collided again, ravenously drinking and breathing each other.  
Sherlock felt it coming, all his muscles tightened. Heat, ten folded, ran through his veins. His hips bucked into the sensation. It was as if lightning struck him with pleasure, he could feel the electricity everywhere, his toes clenched with it, and he felt something hot spurt between them in the water.  
"You're so beautiful" John said and quickly followed him, their pleasure mingling sweetly in the hot water.  
John held him in his arms gently like a fragile flower, peppering soft kisses all over his face.  
Sherlock melted into John's arms, his mind involuntarily still analyzing and filing away emotions: pleasure, fulfillment, happiness, contentedness, love.  
***  
John opened the door to 221B after a long day at the hospital. He was looking forward to seeing Sherlock and basking in the beauty and unconditional love that he emanated.  
He found him sitting on the kitchen table, peering through the lenses of the microscope John had given him as a gift just recently.  
Little did John know then that he had created a monster. Sherlock spent hours staring into his new microscope, marveling at everything he saw. He made it a mission to cram everything he could on the tiny slot and stare at it for hours on end.  
His curiosity and urge to discover the world did not stop there though. He also started conducting what he called "experiments" with the strangest most random objects, like cigarette ash. The mess he made was a small price to pay for the endearing joy that filled the gorgeous face. John could not deny him even if he wanted to.  
John thought if anyone was allowed whatever experiments they desired to make, it would be his Sherlock. He was intelligent beyond belief, incredibly observant of every little detail. The beautiful brain was somehow unique in every way and absolutely magnificent, and John wondered if it had anything to do with what he once was.  
At any rate, this was how Sherlock started working with the New Scotland Yard. Greg and Molly had come for dinner at Baker Street. Though Sherlock had not seemed very interested in most of the conversation, he had turned his head suddenly like a cat once Greg mentioned a particularly difficult case he was working on. Sherlock had asked a couple of questions before announcing "It was the brother in law." They all stared at him until he impatiently explained how he reached the conclusion. "Brilliant" John could not help saying each time Sherlock made another of his deductions, and Sherlock immediately blushed and returned the compliment with a look of absolute adoration.  
John closed the door to their flat, mindful of the bag in his hand.  
"Strawberries" Sherlock said without lifting his head.  
"Amazing" John laughed and leaned for a kiss "Go on then, how did you know?"  
"You're 10 minutes late. You've stopped by somewhere, but it wasn't far. You hold whatever you brought delicately so it must be tender or breakable. Obviously you wouldn't buy eggs now, and we still have some anyway. Fruit then, since it's in a paper bag, red, judging by the smudge on the tips of your fingers. Strawberries, because you like them most."  
John smiled and kissed him again deeply.  
"Plus I can smell it" he purred into John's lips.  
"I keep forgetting how much you still haven't tried" John said while opening the bag and taking out the fruit "and I wanted you to try it"  
"Eating is boring" Sherlock said with a pout, reaching again for John and wrapping his arms around him.  
Sherlock had grown bored of food too quickly for John's liking. He had been struggling more and more to get food into him recently, but he found some ways to convince him.  
He took out one strawberry "Are you sure you don't want any?" He put it between his teeth and crashed their mouths together, and they both bit into the sweetness as they kissed, slowly, gently, lovingly.  
"I love you" John said once they broke apart, relishing the warm breath on his face.  
"I love strawberries" Sherlock said, and they both laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, as promised, happy ending. Of course I cannot stomach sad endings, they kill me!
> 
> I had so much planned, but it turned out the sex scene is soooo difficult I am surprised I even got it done! I do hope It's good enough though, I'm still not entirely happy with it
> 
> and so, this is done, thanks to anyone who's reading. If you think this isn't too bad and I should write more fics please leave a comment or kudos or whatever, I do have ideas for more!
> 
> Love!


End file.
